


Nothing Lasts Forever

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 06:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: A Duster knows everything is temporary.  On the other hand...well, who better than a Duster to appreciate something good when it falls in his lap?





	Nothing Lasts Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iodhadh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iodhadh/gifts).

Covir Brosca was fuming as he followed the idiot Surfacer through the Commons and to the Hall of Over-Eager Bootlickers. Why did the man think he had the right to get involved in a Carta matter? The statues around him didn’t matter; if the Ancestors didn’t give a nug’s behind about him, he didn’t see a reason to be in awe of  _ them.  _ Covir even ignored the way parents pulled their children aside, or how guards fingered their weapons when they saw the ugly brand across his face.

It was all part of the life.

He’d had a shot at something more, finally. Enough time spent licking Behrat’s...well, working to keep Rica from getting things worse, and then this ‘Warden’ had to catch wind of him because of the Proving. Well, Behrat finally got  _ his  _ due, partly thanks to Jarvia...but then the rest of his plans fell apart.

“Why -” Covir’s words failed him as the doors - wood, not stone, this time - opened. Something bright flooded in, making him squint.

“Come along,” the calm voice in front of him said. “We can speak further once we have privacy.”

He was brave enough. He’d never had a problem standing up to the Warrior Caste or threatening a third son - or daughter. It was part of his decades in the Carta, making ends meet and making sure Rica had what she needed to catch the attentions of a Deep Lord. The Noble Caste never wondered how the Casteless noble hunters they toyed with got those silks. Well, he’d made sure of that. There had been blood when his wits weren’t enough; whatever it took to keep Kalah fed and Rica taken care of.

None of that courage mattered as he looked out. It didn’t stop, and was bright enough to make his eyes water.

Duncan turned. “What is - oh.” His neck darkened a moment. “I apologize for the lack of warning, Ser Brosca. The Surface is very different from what you are used to.” He pulled out a helm, and handed it over. “This may help.”

It did. The white light wasn’t so jarring and with the visor down, it was easier to ignore the fact the world didn’t stop like it was supposed to. Covir ground his teeth, but managed to mutter a brief ‘thanks.’

With that, Duncan gestured and the two stepped out together.

“There is much to discuss as we travel. First, I owe you my thanks.”

He blinked.

Duncan chuckled and held his piece until they were past the merchants hawking their wares and along a thankfully narrow path, green and brown pillars lining both sides. “So, thank you.”

“For what?”

“Why, agreeing to become a Warden.”

One part of his irritation faded. “I could have taken the Carta. It’s what I’d been working toward.”

That got him another nod. “I am certain you could have and from what little I saw you would have been a fearsome king of those shadows. The Blight, though, is a larger foe to defeat. I needed your cunning and determination. There are few on the Surface who have it.”

Covir grunted.

**

After a week, he’d adapted - some - to the idea that there were things like ‘night’ and ‘day,’ neither of which behaved correctly. His companion had relaxed, though he stayed mostly quiet with only odd moments of passion.

Covir ground his teeth for a very different reason than he had at their first meeting. “How old are you?”

Duncan didn’t seem surprised. “Old enough to know it doesn’t matter. I daresay that is not much different than you, Ser Brosca.”

“Covir.”

One dark eyebrow rose. Blight take the man. He was a Warden, and important, and composed… “Covir then. Am I incorrect?”

What? Oh. “Not really. Forty, or so.”

He nodded. “Most join the Wardens in their twenties. There are few men who are ready and willing to do what must be done.” He smiled, and Covir felt his own beard moving in a similar, fierce gesture. “You, Covir, I trust won’t have that issue.”

No, no he wouldn’t.

**

“Come.” Duncan tossed his armor to one side, gesturing with his hands. “I’ve seen your mastery of your daggers, but don’t know how familiar you are with other techniques.”

Oh? Oh, this could be  _ fun.  _ Covir tossed his own armor to one side along with said daggers, his boot knife, that bit of handy obsidian, and a garrotte. Then he charged. The momentary disappointment on Duncan’s face vanished when he slipped to one side. A grasping hand caught the braids he preferred for his beard - well, not the first time - and he used that as he went under Duncan’s arm to yank him off-balance. From there, things got dirty.

After, they were both breathing hard, and Covir was rubbing dirt out of his eyes. “Low, Duncan.”

He got a chuckle in return. “I could say the same, but you went for the thigh instead. A miss?”

“Thought you might want to get use outta them later.”

Now both Duncan’s eyebrows went up.

Oh, sodding Void. He’d said it. Well, it was true enough. Jarvia was nice enough, but there was something about the man in front of him, a coiled intensity that was more than a little appealing.

Before he could try recover the situation, the Warden chuckled. “Perhaps. I doubt either of us have the energy now, however.”

What?

**

“Why would you say that to a Casteless?” The ‘sun’ wasn’t much better than the ‘moon,’ and this bit of path was through an open area rather than at least having trees he could pretend were columns.

Duncan kept walking, his longer stride also slower, letting them match each other in a sense. “The Surface world doesn’t care about Castes,” was his response, “and the Wardens even less so. We fight with the Legion regularly. What did I say?”

What had he said? Well, he hadn’t objected outright to something that...Covir felt himself warm up, but it’s not like it showed under his beard. “You treat me like I’m…”

“A Warden.”

A  _ person.  _ Even the concept of no Castes...it wasn’t easy. Covir chewed on his moustache along with his thoughts as they kept walking.  _ Unlike  _ Leske or even Rica, his current companion had no driving need to fill the silence. It was nice.

It  _ also  _ let him pay attention to the fact the world was falling off in front of him, but maybe that weird feeling in his stomach wasn’t either falling up or whatever they’d eaten for breakfast. The grass was pretty; he decided he liked greens and browns. The Surface was full of colors that only Noble and Merchant Castes had access to, rich and vibrant. Dust Town had been a smear of greys and blacks with only fitful gold from the one lava flow and blue-white phosphorescence from the lichen too high to scrape off and eat. Even the rest of Orzammar was grey and gold.

No Castes.

He hadn’t been spit on once. It wasn’t some trick of Duncan’s, not like he’d really thought it was. Duncan wasn’t the type to bother with tricks. “How old are you? You didn’t actually answer, earlier.”

The taller man didn’t blink or start at the random question fired out of minutes of solitude. “Thirty-eight. I’ll turn thirty-nine in a few months’ time.” He glanced over, his eyes the same warmth as the back of the trees they’d left behind yesterday. “And you? I don’t remember you being much more forthcoming.”

“About that,” Covir replied curtly. Age was a sore subject for Risa and their mother, so he’d usually ignored it. He shouldn’t, he admitted - he asked the question. “Thirty-six?” Rica was thirty-eight, almost too old to still appeal to the nobles. He never had; though the ladies could, he’d not been willing to simper and after a while with the Carta, wasn’t pretty enough for that kind of work anyhow.

Duncan nodded.

No Castes...maybe…

Well, that was a matter for another day. “You’d said Wardens do what they need to against the Blight? Why does that make me think you’ve got a few who don’t really understand?”

A warm chuckle fell out of the man. “Because it’s true, Covir. While many of us were thieves and bandits one step ahead of the guard, we also have others. Knights who were raised on tales of glory, mages who have known nothing but the Circles and scholarship, and the Dalish whose experience is of wilderness and the struggle to hunt, rather than evade capture. It is a source of strength, but...there are few Wardens in Ferelden, and most of them are drawn from those sources.”

Ah.

“Indeed. There is much they don’t understand, but there are politics at play as well. By having so many knights, it’s easier to be seen as…”

“Reliable? Safe?”

Duncan sighed. “Safe, yes. Trustworthy. I would rather have a man at my side who knew when to break rules without breaking faith.”

**

The inn had only one room.

“I’m sorry, sers, but we’ve been busy, and just had a passle of soldiers - three Banns! - and are outta space.”

Duncan glanced at Covir. “I am sure we’ll manage, miss,” he murmured reassuringly. “Dinner for two hungry men - would it be easier for you to serve us down here,” he gestured to the overflowing common area, “or up there?”

“Yer room, if’n ye don’t mind. ‘S a silver fer dinner, then anything to drink, and five for the room. It’s a big one,” she apologized. “Has a table an' everything.”

Five, plus dinner... Covir chewed on the corner of his moustache as he thought. This time, it was on him to determine what was ‘fair.’ A room with enough space for bed and a real table...what he could smell over human sweat was full of some kind of meat...and he remembered with a Duster’s habit what Duncan had paid in the other inns they’d stayed. “Throw in a flagon of ale - not beer - and bread in the morning, and it’s a deal.”

“Done,” the woman said gratefully. “Room’s the last at the end of the hall, give your coin when I come up with supper.”

The room was large enough, and the meal better than anything  _ he’d  _ ever had before joining Duncan on the Surface, so he couldn’t complain too much. Covir took another drink of his ale, enjoying the taste his companion called ‘nutty.’ Whatever that was, he’d have to try more. “So,” he said, “what now?”

“That, I suppose, comes down to how much you’ve had to drink.”

Covir snorted. “This? Brands drink to forget.” Oh, how he knew that one; Kalah had taught him that you stopped  _ before  _ you started forgetting, or you never would. “This is nothing.”

The Warden nodded. “Should we retire, then?”

The bed was large enough he could hardly tell the human was there. The sheets and ‘mattress’ still took him by surprise, but he didn’t mind how soft it was. Comfortably behind walls, even if they were wood rather than the stone he knew, it took him about four breaths to fall into the darkness of sleep.

He snapped out of that darkness fumbling for a knife at the first sharp cry. It wasn’t loud, and didn’t sound like an alert, though. When Duncan groaned and muttered, Covir looked for assassins. There was no way they could have gotten into the room, and why?

It was empty, silent except for Duncan’s rough breathing.

The knife clicked lightly against the small table by his pillow, but Duncan only muttered again.

“Duncan?”

He twitched away from the dwarf’s touch, then his eyes shot open.

Covir pulled his hand back. “Easy,” he said. Had the food been poisoned?  _ He  _ didn’t feel anything, but things worked differently on humans. “It’s me. Covir. Remember?”

Muscle by muscle, the man’s shoulders relaxed. Finally, his head thumped back against the pillow as he closed his eyes. “I should apologize. It was a dream. Only a dream.”

Uh-huh. “Sure,” he agreed, “only a dream. What’s a dream?”

Duncan’s chuckle was a dry thing. “Caught by the difference in our races I’d remember during the day. Humans and elves dream. At night, we see things. Our minds do not rest the way yours does. Some dreams are worse than others. Some are memories, warped, and others are desires, fears, or imaginings. Some, we consider warnings.”

Being a dwarf was sounding better and better.

His instinct was to nod, mutter something, and go back to sleep. That was the instinct of a Duster, though. On the Surface, no one really...there wasn’t really such a thing. The woman didn’t double the price when he was paying, he didn’t get scraps while Duncan got a real meal. Duncan especially never treated him as anything but a comrade. Maybe...maybe more. In Dust Town, he’d have known what those considering looks meant while the Warden was apparently watching the road in front of them. Were human customs the same?

Covir reached his hand back out, pushing it against Duncan’s chest. “So what was it?”

His hand wasn’t pushed away. “Nothing.”

“Nugshit,” he responded to the Warden. It could have been abrupt; his voice was soft instead. He’d never had the chance to  _ be  _ soft before. “What is it?”

Duncan’s eyes opened again, and their piercing darkness met his before the man sighed and closed them again in surrender. “You will need to know soon enough.”

Not like  _ that  _ was ominous.

“Not all dreams are ordinary for a Grey Warden. We are...tied to the Blight. Most of the time, it is nothing. When a Blight occurs, we know. We hear it in our dreams.” His lips quirked under his moustache. “So, now you know. It happens to all of us.”

“Hey,” Covir said, though he didn’t really understand why, “you don’t have to face it all alone, you know.”

**

That night changed so much.

Duncan’s rare smile, vulnerable like he wasn’t during the day...and somehow, they never bothered with separate rooms again.

Somehow, Covir quit complaining, quit wondering what he’d be doing with the Carta answering to him instead of Behrat. He didn’t quit worrying about Rica, but she’d found her diamond, and she wasn’t the kind to lose hold of her way out of Dust Town.

Somehow, the Surface didn’t seem so bad.

...somehow, it never occurred to him to wonder about the dreams. It was enough that he was able to be there for Duncan, just like the Warden was there when humans did things that made no sodding sense. Duncan smiled more. He swore less. They found better ways to help him calm down when the dreams hit, which was almost every night.

His only concern about the ‘Kocari Wilds’ wasn’t running into Darkspawn, idiots, or whatever else. He’d survived the Carta for decades. Instead, he held Duncan’s eyes. “We’ll be back by tomorrow,” he promised.

“Take as long as you need. This is critical.”

He bit his tongue rather than his moustache. Duncan was perfectly reasonable, right up until it hit whatever walls he had around  _ Wardens.  _ “I’ll do this. You want blood, I’ll get you blood.” There was plenty down in Orzammar - or just past, at least. Why not then? “Keep your secrets,” he said quietly.

The Warden winced. As though the others weren’t there, he spoke just to Covir. “It is necessary - but I promise you, I’ll tell you everything once you return.”

He couldn’t give the man a proper - or  _ improper  _ \- goodbye, not with the three younger men around. They wouldn’t understand. “I’ll keep you to that, salroka.”

“Come back. Trust Alistair’s senses.”

Wardens.

Well, he’d know soon enough.

**

“...we...hear it. The Archdemon, that is. It’s how we know this really is a Blight.”

Alistair’s words didn’t help. “Thanks,” he croaked, and rolled to his feet, heading blindly into the darkness. The Surface was good for something, at least.  _ Duncan, you sodding…  _ But no, he was a Warden. Covir had always known - he’d known that sodding night. He’d seen Duncan’s eyes, felt it with the way the man’s hand had touched his face as he woke up flat on his back after the Joining thing.

“Damn you, Duncan, why couldn’t you have been selfish, just once?” The tree shuddered at his punch, but it didn’t stop his beard from growing damp. But no. Duncan had been a Warden first, as much as he’d let himself be a man as well, just for a while. Covir clenched the Silvirite pendant around his neck; it was all he had from the man, other than memories.

Memories…

He punched the tree one more time, just so his other fist didn’t feel left out. He’d remember. Alistair knew the father - he knew the lover.  _ No one  _ was going to make him forget.  _ No one  _ would stop him from dealing with the sodding Blight and making sure Duncan was remembered. The Surface didn’t have the Memories? Well, he’d never been a part of Orzammar’s, but he swore to himself. The Surface would learn.

He wouldn’t be forgotten.

The ‘dream’ - apparently, even dwarves were infected by them. Covir swore again, wishing that he had the others.  _ Dreams...memories...changed by our sleeping minds.  _ But no, the only ‘dream’ of Duncan’s he shared were the ones that left the Warden shaking and gasping. He was a Warden now, a poor substitute. Happiness…

He was a Duster.

He knew.

Happiness didn’t last any longer than anything else.

Still. He’d wanted more than a few weeks. He’d wanted  _ more. _

“I’ll make it happen, Duncan,” Covir said quietly. “I’ll find a way, use those treaties...this Blight won’t last forever. Nothing does.”


End file.
